


drink, and be sweet

by kingtumbleweed



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingtumbleweed/pseuds/kingtumbleweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Equius is definitely not too STRONG to use a teacup.  Meowrails teatime fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drink, and be sweet

**Author's Note:**

> I needed some quick pointless fluff, so I wrote some quick pointless fluff.

Nepeta rests her chin on her laced fingers, elbows on the table. "Would you serve us tea, Mr. Zahhak?"

You grimace, temples damp with nervous perspiration. "Nepeta, you know I can't use these teacups. And remove your elbows from the table, it is impolite."

"Sure you can!" She ignores your admonishment, pressing the squat pink teapot and little cups across the table. The cups are painted with tiny cats dancing along the rims. They are completely ridiculous.

You fold your hands adamantly in your lap. "No. They're too delicate. You pour the tea."

"They're not!"

"I will damage them."

"You won't. You nefur hurt _me_." She slides low against the table, cheekbones resting on her palms, so she can give you her most imploring look.

You frown at her. "You are not delicate."

Her smile at that is warm and sly, like you've shared a secret with her. "No," she agrees, pleased, "but I am very dainty and purrtite! And my feelings are deli-cat, but you nefur hurt those."

"I--" 

"You are very gentle."

"I'm--"

"It's easy, I'll help you." Nepeta climbs directly over the table, heedless of your outraged sputtering, and places herself behind you, leaning over your shoulders. One at a time, she unstraps and peels off your gloves, and, pressing her palms against the back of your hand, laces her fingers into yours. She squeezes your fingers between her knuckles.

"This will not help."

"Shh."

You have all but stopped breathing, trying to stay impossibly still and relaxed as she moves your hands, closing your fingers into the handle of the teapot. The lightest pressure of her hands, the lightest pressure of yours. Lift it. Nepeta's breath ghosts over your cheek. She presses--you press one finger to the lid of the teapot while you pour into one cup, then the second. You are going to hurt her fingers accidentally. You're going to smash the china and get scalding tea all over both of you. Your hairline and under your arms are cold and sticky with sweat. 

When you try to protest drinking your tea this way, too, she simply shooshes you and kisses your cheekbone where she can reach it. You go through the same exercise with the teacup, together setting your fingers cautiously around the rim of the cup, lifting it to your lips. Nepeta lets you tip it yourself, and you can feel her smile when you sip. 

She lets you put it down before she withdraws her fingers from yours, and seats herself beside you, tucked up against your ribcage. "See?" She cradles her own teacup in both hands. "Purrfect."


End file.
